


Perihelion

by Dogielder



Category: The Fox - Ylvis (Music Video), Ylvis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia/Utopia, Animal Sacrifice, Gen, Hallucination Mention, Human Sacrifice, blood mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogielder/pseuds/Dogielder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written for no apparent reason, a second chapter will most likely be along eventually.</p>
<p>beta'd by: fuckingylvis on tumblr.  (thank you so much!)</p>
<p>inspired by the song Red Rabbits by The Shins.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Day #1

**Author's Note:**

> written for no apparent reason, a second chapter will most likely be along eventually.
> 
> beta'd by: fuckingylvis on tumblr. (thank you so much!)
> 
> inspired by the song Red Rabbits by The Shins.

The trees in the moonlight were a dark lattice, so he catalogued every angle he noticed, walking over the roots and rocks in the well worn paths without even looking. The camera in his hands clicked and spat out yet another black and white rectangle - a Polaroid camera. The soft sound of the wind chimes swirled on the breeze, following his calm walk through the forest. He never picked up the photos, he simply left them there, knowing they'd be gone come morning.

The path he followed reached a dock and a lake, a small boat floating there. He let the camera go on the strap round his neck and he stepped down into the watercraft, looking towards the tiny island in the far distance of the water. With a grunt, he started to paddle himself toward it. The wind chimes grew louder as he approached.

Today was a celebratory day, his brother and his friend were in the village entertaining everybody, but today, this time, it was his turn to go collect what was needed for later tonight. As the island got closer, you could faintly hear the rustling of animals hidden amongst the plants and boulders, but the wind gave a mighty push and all noise was deafened by the wind chimes that hung two or three to a branch, ones on stands atop rocks. The man himself produced a necklace of bells, which he put on, as well as a leather leash, muzzle and harness out of his satchel. The necklace clinked loudly with every movement as he tied the boat to a root and stepped out onto dry land. If the wind, and thus the chimes, kept going, everything for later would be perfect.

He walked along, fingers hooked into the straps, ready to be used at a moment's notice. The twin moons, one reddish, the other silvery, gave everything an iridescent quality. His dark eyes flicked about, searching. Without warning, he dove forward, yelling, to capture a small animal in his arms; first the muzzle went on, then the harness, then the leash for if things went a bit wrong and the animal escaped its bindings. He had it pinned underneath him, already unable to move, but he was taking no chances. He took a string of fireworks and some matches out of his bag and set them off. He couldn't hear it over the roar of the chimes mixed with his bells, but he knew the village would see the light and was cheering. He could imagine his brother's laughter, and his children's ecstatic screams, his wife's grin. He quickly snapped a picture of the animal, shoved the photo in his bag and prepared to get back home.

X

He gets back to a feast: children running about with not a care at all, and pretty much everybody else doing the same. His hand is tense and white-knuckled around the leather muzzle on the dog-like creature he's holding. He thinks back to the poor man, David, who had to go capture one of these on a Harvest Night when there was no wind to start the chimes. David had heard the faintest whisper of the animal and gone crazy. The Council had shoved him into the catacombs and told everyone to forget about him. There was no feast that Harvest Night.

The man shivered at the memory and unconsciously tightened his grip on the animal. People made way for him and congratulated him as he made his way to the amphitheater, carved out of the side of a cliff that led down into the other side of the forest. It was impressive, really, and he knew his family and friends would be there.

On the stage below he could see his brother and his friend, along with others, performing, probably for the third or fourth time, the (extremely morbid, if you asked him), play that was always done on Harvest Night. The man paused to watch.

His brother, Bård, and their friend, Calle, were, at least for today, the narrators. They would call up eight children, who would all repeat the men's words along with them, for they had heard it so many times before:

"Dog goes woof, cat goes meow

Bird goes tweet and mouse goes squeak

Cow goes moo, frog croaks

And elephant toots!

Ducks quack and fish blub

Seal sounds like it's hurting

But what sound does a fox make?"

At this point, the two went to each child in turn, asking them if they knew. The response, of course, was no, but then they were told to make whatever noise they could think of that might drive somebody insane. After that, the kids were chased back to their seats by "monsters", supposedly the things that lived in the catacombs, although no one actually knew what had created those nests and tunnels, or even if it was still down there.

The last bit of the performance was cut off, however, as Bård and then Calle noticed him standing at the top of the steps.

"Vegard!" they yelled, almost in unison, and waved him excitedly down. The audience grew silent, and Vegard self-consciously remembered he was still wearing the bells around his neck. They seemed loud, now, with the awed faces looking up at him. But he knew he would eventually get used to it. He also knew that the bells were very important so he could pass them off to the next person to wear them on Harvest Night, fifteen and a half moonsets away.

When he got down to the stage, the children had all been ushered to their seats and the actors behind them that had helped to tell the story had taken off their costumes and were holding them respectfully. Calle looked extremely impressed as he clapped Vegard on the back, looking down at the red-furred animal in Vegard's arms.

People had been informed of Vegard's arrival, and the amphitheater would be full soon, just enough room for the entire village to fit. The Council stepped up beside Vegard, and suddenly everybody shut up.

Vegard let the captured beast into the open arms of the Chief Elder, who set it down in a wooden brace, like a guillotine but with out the blade, holding the creature with its neck exposed. Then he handed Vegard a bowl and a knife made of the same type of bone. He looked around. His entire family had come down; his wife, kids, Bård's partner and children were in attendance, hell, their parents and their older brother Bjarte were here.

The whole village was watching.

Vegard knelt down, pressing the knife against the fox's throat and holding the bowl below. He paused for a second. This was the one part you never got used to, they said. Vegard knew he never would. He took a deep breath to calm himself and with one swift motion he slit the animal's throat, the dark read spilling into the bowl. Vegard watched as the eyes slowly dimmed until they stared off into the middle distance, somewhere thousands of miles away. The large bowl was almost spilling over the edge. Vegard carefully took the bowl in both hands and stood up. The crowd howled at them as the Chief Elder took it from him, dipped an old paintbrush into the blood and gently drew a symbol on Vegard's forehead: an upside down triangle with two smaller ones atop it, side by side. A fox.

The first person had been marked.

The celebration could begin.

X

"Da! Da, how did you do it? How did you capture the animal?"

Calle watched from a distance as children grouped around the dark haired man, some marked, some not, to hear the newest adventure story, for it always was to them. A few were fighting over who had possession of the Polaroids that Vegard had left on the path. Calle could feel the prickle of the blood drying on his forehead, but he was not with his family. Calle had been married once, and they'd had a child together, but they lived in a larger village two moonsets away and they hardly ever saw each other. Calle couldn't find his new partner, but he wasn't really worried about it. She was probably down at the hot springs with her friends like they did every Harvest Night, so Calle told himself not to worry. Today was the one day he had to rest before he had to go back to work.

So he wandered around somewhat aimlessly, chatting to people and occasionally joking with the children. The kids liked him a lot, it's just that many preferred Bård and/or Vegard just a bit more. It would be time for the Calling sometime soon anyway, and if he didn't get picked he would just go back to his cabin that was technically part of the village, but it was far enough away for people to think he was some random guy who cut he and his significant other off from the rest of society. Calle had tried to explain several times why his house was out there, but no one listened. It sure as hell wasn't Calle's fault.

"Hey, Calle!" the blond man turned to see Bård approaching him, carrying the huge basket full of different colored yarns, no two the same. There was already a mint green one tied around Bård's wrist. He had another, much less full, basket in his other hand.

"What color do you want?" the younger asked, holding up the full basket so Calle could make his choice. Calle simply dug his hand in and picked one; the man didn't care color it was. He ended up with a purple just on the dark side of lavender. He snapped it in half, tied one on his own wrist and placed the other in the less full basket.

"Thanks," Bård said, "I hope you don't get sent to the catacombs!"

Calle watched as his friend walked away, laughing.

X

When all the yarn was gone from the full basket and the other contained only half-pieces, Bård brought it to the Elders at the Hall. Few people came to this bit, for in the morning everyone would know what happened to who. Bård noticed that Calle and Kaja were in the back of the room, Vegard standing up by the Elders holding the bells and the leather straps.

"Everybody ready?" the Chief Elder asked, and the crowd murmured in assent, because why not have two chances for someone to be surrendered to the catacombs? Bård went and stood beside his brother.

The Chief Elder nodded and reached into the half-pieces basket. This one was who got to capture the fox next Harvest Night. Out came a purple - with a jolt Bård looked up at Calle, but the yarn the older man wore was lighter than the one from the basket. Bård relaxed and thought about when Vegard had been picked, about how he had almost cried, because there was a huge chance he'd never see his brother again. Bård took a breath to calm his body.

In the little while it took Bård's mind to go through all that, Vegard had given the bell necklace to the Second Elder and Chief was already reaching into the basket for the second scrap of yarn - Harvest Night required two sacrifices: one animal, one human.

 


	2. Day #1 1/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has taken so long i have forgotten what my oc's name is whoops
> 
> another thanks to fuckingylvis on tumblr, this time for inadvertently reminding me that i actually wrote this.

The blond looked toward the City Center, where the loud sound of cheering mixed with and nearly drowned out the soft sobs and pleas from the very middle of the crowd, begging to be let go, to be shown mercy. Calle felt bad for the voice, and planned to leave before they unbound the poor person and let them flee. The human part of this whole thing was the worst part, in Calle's opinion. They would tie the person to a metal ring with the leather straps from the capture of the fox and they would be let go when the silver and the red moons stopped their eclipse of the two behind it. Until they were let go, a crowd would form, screaming insults at them. Calle had seen people so emotionally wounded they had simply lain there and cried when the straps came off.

Calle absolutely hated this part, but he followed the stream of people going there anyway. He wanted to see who it was, he couldn't tell whether the crying was male or female, or if the person was, well, neither. Calle just wanted to see who it was. He knew it wasn't Bård or Vegard or any of their family, or most definitely not Kaja. If it had been any of them, he would be down there already, talking to them and saying goodbye, maybe even yelling at the crowd to "go away, for God's sake!" But he had heard that it was someone really young today, under twenty. This was a fact that made Calle especially angry.

As he pushed through the crowd, a few people protest against the intrusion, but he also hears a few variations of the same thing: "Wow, Calle, finally doing this!" and all that. He glowered angrily back at the ones who said this to him, and kept shoving. When he got to the dark red circle drizzled out of the last of the fox blood that meant the throng could step no further to the prisoner, he was a bit shocked.

Calle knew the kid, talked to him a few times, told him happy birthday just two moonsets ago. He had forgotten his name, but it was somewhere in the back of his mind. He could hear his sobs now, half in a language Calle didn't know, reddish-brown hair flopped into his eyes. He couldn't reallym move, arms bound behind him and leds twisted underneath his weight at an awkward angle. It looked like it hurt. There was also a fight going on accross from Calle on the near oppisite side of the blood circle, a woman with long red hair trying to get in. She disappeared as someone shoved her to the ground.

As Calle stood there, the conversation of the crowd turned to a different topic: the moons. As the eclipse began to end, the usual silver-red light wavered as the third moon started to shine through. People began to put on their goggles for the odd light combinations, eyes hidden behind the dark glass. Calle tensed up, waiting.

The horn blew, and he found himself darting forward, fingers fumbling with the buckles. His eyes hurt. He wasn't going to put on his goggles, not yet. Finally the boy was free, and he lurched up, stumbling away from Calle scaredly. The bond tried to reach out to him, but the light was already affecting Calle badly and his hand hit empty air and he toppled over.

Calle watched from the ground as the boy sprinted clumsily through the group and into the forest, and is only back on his feet when Bård and Vegard grab onto his arms and heave him up.

"Calle, what are you doing?" Vegard asks once he's supporting his own weight once more. "And why aren't you wearing your goggles?" Bård and Vegard are both wearing theirs, and Bård plucks at the pair around Calle's neck.

"You should put them on," the younger says. "Why don't you have them on yet?"

Calle squints in the direction the boy darted off to. "Do you know who got chosen to be put in the catacombs today? It was some young guy." he pulls his goggles on for the time being, and the headache that had been surging starts to fade.

"Uh, he was an apprentice at the mines, I know that. Why?"

"I... I just wanted to know who he was. He's familiar, you know?"

"It was just his birthday, right?"

The blond nods, then says, "I'm heading home. See you."

"Bye, Calle!"

X

It's quite a bit later now, and the eclipse of the fourth and final moon is almost over; the horn will blow and the hunt will be on for the nameless boy that Calle had released. (He's trying his hardest to recall the name but it just isn't reaching him.) This final celestial being is more commonly called the "hallucination moon", for the lights of all four combined sends shadows reeling, causing horrid tricks of the light if you aren't wearing the goggles. They make everything black and white and slightly shiny looking, but it's far better than the alternative.

Calle had started home about halfway through the third moon's light, for it never lasted long. He's got his own satchel over his shoulder and is, by now, extremely angry by the fact that he still doesn't know who the kid was. Kaja had decided to stay back at the village for a while longer, and he mentally kicks himself over the fact that he should have asked her if he knew who it was. Calle isn't sure why, but he /needs/ to know who that boy was. He seems achingly familiar, but it's like trying to catch mist with a net.

X

Calle hears him before he comes into view.

He's been walking for a while now, almost to his house, the hallucination moon shining down with full force, the hunt for the boy most definitely on. The river is roaring to Calle's left, it's flood season now, and he could just barely hear the now familiar cries and babbles of the boy. He couldn't quite tell where they were coming from, and he stopped at the crossroads in the path in front of him. The kid was slightly louder now, and Calle noticed puddles of water leading from the riverbank into the thick forest, for the paths and such had practically been gouged out of the forest floor. Hesitantly, he lightly stepped over to where the water met the trees and pushed away the leaves. He knew the kid was here somewhere. Then something shifted, and the black and white came into focus.

The boy lay there, sobbing, one foot caught in a tangle of roots, lying atop a bed of leaves and thorn-vines. He was soaked and covered in scratches, and the movement had been from him turning his head to stare at Calle with tear-glassed eyes. Calle watched as his next sob hitched and he attempted to yank his foot free, to get away. Calle had no clue what tricks were being played on the poor boy but he _did_ know he could still hear him.

"Shh, shh... I'm not here to hurt you or anything. I don't know what you're seeing right now, but I'm here to help, okay?" Calle remembered what you should say to someone if you found them outside during fourth moon without their goggles.

The boy seemed to relax just the tiniest bit, stopping his struggle against the roots. His crying had considerably quieted as well, although he was still gasping and shaking.

"I'm going to try and free your foot now," With that, Calle pulled a knife out of a sheath on his belt and crouched down, careful not to touch any of the thorn-vines. The blade was rarely used, but it was just one of those things that everybody around here owned, like some type of watercraft. But Calle's mind had started to wander, and he focused on the task at hand, pulling as much as he could away from the tangle. The kid seemed to really be stuck, and Calle had no idea how he had managed to get himself into this.

He directed the boy to try and get his foot free, whimpering as the action caused him to press down against the thorn-vines even more. The boy must've been covered by the needles by now. It would be a hell of a time trying to get them all out.

X

Calle shushed the boy for the nth time. He was helping him along to his house, so he could get him all bandaged and cleaned up and figure out just what to do. He knew the kid was in pain, and he was shivering violently, covered in cuts and bruises. Once, Calle had gotten his palm covered in the thorn-vine needles, and it had been one of the most painful things he had ever felt. He could only imagine what kind of pain the boy was in. But he told the kid to shush anyway, because there were people hunting for him this very second, and if they got caught the boy would get thrown in the catacombs. Calle would too.

"We're almost to my house, okay?" Calle assured him, "You just gotta keep quiet."

The kid clenched his jaw and nodded.

X

"We're almost done, we're almost done!" Calle pressed his hand against the boy's lower back to try and get him to keep still. "Just a few more." Calle had figured out earlier that talking to him kept the boy somewhat calmer, so he had rambled as he pulled the needles out of his back and wiped the blood off. Thankfully they were mostly on his back, which made it slightly less painful, but it also meant he would bleed more. The thorn-vines were tricky to deal with.

"Just one more, now." Calle said, and the boy buried his face into the pillow he was clutching, whimpering softly and then letting out a squeak as Calle yanked it out and pressed the washcloth against the wound, on the boy's shoulder blade.

"That's it. You did good. I'm going to get you a clean shirt now, be right back." Calle gathered up the cloth that held the needles, careful not to prick himself, and set them in the kitchen. Then he gathered up some clean clothes and a blanket for him, returning as quick as he could.

The boy had started to cry again, still holding onto the pillow tightly. He had started to continue in that language, this time something close to a prayer. Calle moved to kneel down next to him again, gently removing the washcloth so he could finish with the last of the bandages. The boy pulled away from the pillow and lifted a hand to wipe at his hands and face.

"Thank you for doing this," he said. "But why are you helping me?"

And that's the first time Calle hears him speak.


End file.
